


dinner & diatribes

by wytch-lyghts (flight_on_broken_wings)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballroom Dancing, Caleb is Headmaster of the Soltryce Academy, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Essek is still Shadowhand, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Politics, Post-Campaign 2, Protective Essek, Rating will change to E in Part III, Tenderness, married shadowgast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flight_on_broken_wings/pseuds/wytch-lyghts
Summary: The music swelled, elegantly matched pairs spinning past each other across the floor where the dance carried them. Weaving behind the pillars and braziers of glowing coals lining the hall, Caleb scanned over the shifting sea of guests for his husband. Hishusband. Oh gods.It still sounded strange. His husband. Good, decidedly good, but strange, making his heart stumble over itself dangerously. The thought put the most fragile, fluttering sensation in his chest that he had yet to put words to and a stupid grin on his face when he wasn’t being careful. And he was presently beingexceptionallycareful. These nations were allies, technically, but their elite—his guests—bared their teeth at one another more than they did smile. If they made it through the night without any bloodshed at this anniversary of the peace, that alone would be worth celebrating.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 26
Kudos: 138





	1. Part I.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Hozier's 'Dinner & Diatribes', this fic's inspiration.

One deep breath, followed by another. Caleb stared at himself in the full-length mirror standing in the corner of their bedroom. 

His eyes trailed over the neat braid tying back the hair around his face, Essek’s hands more adept at it than his own. His coat was pressed, collar starched, face clean shaven, but it was an imperfect facade, and the cracks were beginning to show. 

_Etiquette,_ Jester had chided him, grinning devilishly, _don’t you know anything about proper etiquette?_ But Caleb’s limited classical education only carried him so far, only providing the functional, the essential. So, no, Caleb had told her, apparently not.

And everything, everything that Jester took such great delight in informing him of, from the invitations ( _they have to be embossed, Caleb_ ) to the food and drink ( _it’s not a party without champagne, Caleb_ ) to the decor ( _why is everything so dreary, Caleb_ ) and the necessity of preparing guest rooms ( _some of them are coming all the way from Rosohna, Caleb_ ) was foreign to him. It did not help his agitation that Veth nodded along to every word out of Jester’s mouth so eagerly, despite how certain Caleb was that she knew nothing more than he did about hosting a celebration of the scale he had been burdened with hosting. 

“Do you find it strange,” Essek was asking him from the bureau as he sorted through his collection of jewelry with a critical eye, all silver and platinum and white gold, each delicate piece more ornate than the last. “Dwendal insists upon celebrating an anniversary of the peace, and then doesn’t even plan to attend.”

Caleb was half listening, agonizing over the coming evening and wrestling with the collar of his shirt—too high, too stiff, irritating where it rubbed against his neck when he turned his head, though no amount of tugging at it made it sit right. “Not really,” he grunted. “He never appears in public.”

Gods, how he wished Dwendal would have decided to make an appearance. The whole thing would have been bigger, grander, _worse_ , but even if not at Castle Ungebroch, the Crown would have provided the venue for security concerns. Caleb didn’t even know if the manor was big enough to accommodate the guest list he’d been handed under duress, thanks to his Royal Highness and his “good faith endeavor” to prove the peace would last. Something about his recent marriage (it was not _that_ recent, he had protested) making them “symbolic candidates” to host the event.

At least there were no names on that list which he would classify as downright hostile due to ever having crossed paths with the Mighty Nein. Not anymore, anyway. But with others… there was a _history_ there best left in the past and kept at a distance.

Essek hummed a dissatisfied note, unconvinced. “I’m not sure how much of a _commitment_ that makes this little farce. The Queen could have so easily taken it as a slight. And what a strange anniversary to celebrate, five years. It’s hardly been a moment since we’ve stopped killing each other.”

He appeared over Caleb’s shoulder in the reflection, smoothing down imaginary wisps of hair as if any had escaped his elegant coif before turning this way and that, scrutinizing the platinum earrings he’d taken such pains to select, delicately vining cuffs that extended toward the points of his ears. 

Caleb huffed, forcing his jaw to unlock. “Perhaps not to the Dynasty. Five years is something worth celebrating in a human lifespan,” he muttered, frustration coiling hot in his chest. He bit back a hiss of annoyance as his fumbling only served to dislodge the knot in his cravat, the coarse fabric already too tight around his throat. Plucking at it uselessly, his attempt to fix the damage and tuck the ends smoothly into his collar seemed to only make it worse.

With a fresh swell of the anxiety, a constant companion behind his sternum of late, Caleb was reminded that he felt hopelessly, laughably unequipped. 

Cursing quietly under his breath, he gave up on his collar, forcing himself to return his hands to his sides and take a slow, deep breath. He held it a moment before exhaling, so tightly strung that he watched his shoulders barely fall in the mirror as he so, nervous energy crawling and prickling across his skin.

Essek noticed. How could he not. He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in interest, their eyes meeting in the reflection, the corner of his lips curling sharply in amusement. “Somehow, watching you struggle in this mirror isn’t quite the same when it’s to put clothing _on_. Ask for help, won’t you?”

Caleb snorted at the comment, not quite in the mood to entertain those particular memories. “ _Arschloch_ ,” he grumbled, ignoring him.

When their eyes met a second time, Essek’s expression had softened with understanding, arrogant smirk gentling into a reassuring smile that reached even the corners of his eyes. It struck Caleb then, how he had hardly changed at all since they’d first met those years ago, effortlessly put together and beautiful, silver mantle much the same as that which he wore in the Bright Queen’s throne room but his robes were more richly textured, silver embroidery catching the light tastefully, a complicated geometric motif. 

Meanwhile the grey creeping in at Caleb’s temples and in his beard when he let it grow out hadn’t escaped his notice, worry lines in his brow deeper than before. It didn’t bother him, not in the sense it concerned him that Essek’s natural lifespan far outlasted his own—there were plenty of arcane solutions far short of lichdom to extend a lifespan and restore youth, particularly when one was as well versed in transmutation as himself—but while it hadn’t before, his age suddenly felt pressing. And it only added to the anxiety that had Caleb’s heart thrumming in his chest for the past hour with no sign of slowing, not at all prepared for his every detail to be scrutinized by the worst gossips in Wildemount.

As if following his gaze in the reflection, Essek leaned over his shoulder to press a light kiss to his temple. “Let me,” he offered, his voice soft and touch light on Caleb’s shoulders, nudging him gently until he turned away from the mirror and around to face him.

The minimal space between them, warm and shrinking as Essek shifted closer still, forced Caleb to look up slightly to meet his gaze, highlighting that frustrating inch or two of height that Essek held on him even while planted firmly on the ground. His tongue darting out to wet his lips, Caleb said nothing, merely nodding his assent before glancing away, his eyes dragged to the floor.

Essek’s hands smoothed up the front of his waist coat before tugging lightly at the corners of his collar, humming a pleased little sound when he had them aligned appropriately again, an infinitesimal difference. “Look up,” he instructed, his fingertips brushing Caleb’s throat before hooking into the top of the cravat when he obeyed, tugging it slightly looser and lower on his neck. 

Caleb watched Essek’s expression shift as he fussed with the infuriating bit of fabric, a slowly developing frown pressing his lips into a hard line, eyebrows knit together as he focused. “There,” Essek finally breathed, pausing to study his work, the inside of his cheek caught between his teeth. “I think that will do.”

Caleb swallowed dryly, trying on a weak smile as he nodded his thanks. 

He expected Essek to step back, to finish preparing himself, but he stayed, his brow knit as he watched Caleb’s expression with something akin to growing concern. “You hate it, don’t you,” he murmured, not really a question.

Caleb couldn’t stop his eyes from darting away. “It’s fine,” he sighed, catching Essek’s hand against his lapel before it slid away, squeezing gently. “Thank you.”

Essek’s head tilted to the side, lifting the hand not resting over Caleb’s heart to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing gently over his cheek. “If it bothers you,” he said simply, “don’t wear it.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of Caleb’s mouth. “After you just worked so hard on it?”

He had expected a dry remark, a smirk, something intelligent. But Essek’s expression was serious, his touch warm and achingly soft. “I would rather you be comfortable.”

Caleb laughed, a short, harsh sound. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, _Schatz_. Not tonight.”

Essek exhaled slowly, the furrow of his brow softening as he understood. “We will get through it,” he reminded him softly, a great deal more confident than Caleb felt. “Tonight it will be just you and I again, and it will be behind us. And until then, I see no need to choose to make it more unpleasant for yourself than need be.” His smile grew, just slightly. “Even if it means you don’t wear this collar thing that Veth picked for you,” Essek said as he plucked at the cravat, still too tight around Caleb’s throat for his liking, not quite similar to anything commonplace in Dynasty apparel.

Then, having made up his mind for him, Essek pressed up onto his toes to brush a kiss to Caleb’s forehead, retreating again before Caleb could react. He sidestepped to the standing wardrobe beside the mirror, already hanging open, the discarded tailcoats and vests that Caleb had opted against wearing folded over its doors. Blinking in surprise, Caleb watched as Essek hummed to himself in consideration, flicking through the hanging shirts and coats insides until he paused at a few options which evidently merited longer deliberation. 

Despite himself, Caleb could help but be endlessly endeared, watching as Essek smiled brightly, deeply satisfied with himself. He pulled from their hangers a fresh shirt, still white muslin but without such a ridiculously high collar, and a different dinner jacket which was double breasted to match. “Take that thing off,” Essek instructed, pausing a half second, gnawing at his lip and studying his selections before thinking better of it and waiving generally at Caleb’s torso. “Actually, all of it, waist up. Put the vest back on though. I like how it hugs your waist and it will match that blue necktie of yours. Brings out your eyes.”

Caleb blinked mutely. “You like how –”

“I said what I said,” Essek muttered quietly, ducking his head and tossing the clothing at Caleb before turning away. 

He couldn’t help but grin to himself. “Brings out my –”

“ _Strip_. We don’t have all evening,” Essek sighed, exasperated.

Caleb’s heart skipped a beat at the command and the tone he took for an entirely new reason. “Yes, Sir,” he laughed, a small grin tugging at his lips as he turned away to lay the clothes Essek picked across the foot of their bed. Pulling at the cravat until it came free with no small amount of relief, he started on the buttons of his coat.

“Is there anyone in particular we are looking to create a positive impression with tonight?” Essek asked from behind him, shifting subjects. “We ought to discuss a strategy if so.”

“If you are asking about the dens represented tonight, I’m afraid I am still woefully ignorant of their high society politics. You would know better, and probably put a better foot forward,” Caleb added somewhat sheepishly, pausing to tug his shirt over his head, “if we ought to make an effort with any of them.”

He heard Essek huff to himself, closer than he’d thought, but still no enough warning to keep Caleb from flinching in surprise when he felt his husband’s cool fingers skate over his bare waist, palms splayed flat over his ribs as his arms wrapped around him from behind. He felt a smile curl against the soft skin behind his ear, followed by the playful nip of teeth.

“Almost a hundred and thirty years and I still do not fully understand den politics,” Essek chuckled, each puff of breath warm against his neck. “Do not feel bad for that. Though you probably navigate my mother more skillfully than I,” he added under his breath, “so credit where credit is due.”

“Ah, but she will not be in attendance tonight.” Caleb picked up the fresh shirt, unable to pull it on without dislodging Essek from his back, but he was sure they were not so short on time as for that to be necessary.

“No,” Essek agreed, exhaling heavily and leaning into Caleb a little more solidly. “Small blessings.” A pause, and he pulled away, leaving Caleb missing the warmth against his back. As he ducked into his shirt, Essek resumed. “But anyway, no. My question was more about the guests from your side of things. We are in respectable standing with the dens.”

“Respectable standing,” Caleb echoed Essek’s assessment, a clear question in his tone.

“Mhm, yes. In fact, well, it would be poor form to approach you alone about this sort of thing, but if you find you suspect a conversation is angling toward currying favor with Den Thelyss, be very careful not to agree to anything on accident—no social calls, no dinner invites, not just because these things so quickly become obligations but because they are so very tedious and unnecessary.”

Caleb huffed in amusement at that, turning to sit on the edge of their bed as he re-buttoned his waist coat. Essek took his spread knees as an open invitation, moving to stand between them to straighten out his collar, a familiar light blue necktie in hand, silk not nearly so irritating that against his throat as Essek tied it in place. 

Letting his eyes drift closed for a moment, Caleb enjoyed how Essek’s fingers lingered, thumbing almost absently over his pulse.

“Approach _me_ to curry favor with Den Thelyss,” he mused, pulling the dinner jacket over his shoulders. “I’m not sure how that happened.”

When Essek was silent longer than Caleb expected, he looked up from wrestling with the annoying little buttons at his wrists to find Essek’s eyes, his expression pensive. “Whatever you think of yourself, or _us_ , my Light,” Essek said seriously, so earnestly it made his chest ache, cupping his jaw with one hand and tucking a lock of hair that had fallen loose from his braid behind his ear with the other. “ _Drama_ all that while ago be damned, I married quite well, I will remind you, Mr. Hero of the Dynasty and Exandria and all that,” Essek reminded him, a small smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “Den Theylss was more than pleased to stake their claim on you. Human or not, the soul is all that the Luxon and those who believe in it care about.”

Caleb exhaled heavily, closing his eyes and leaning into Essek’s touch. “I hope that ‘hero’ title doesn’t have to be renewed very often. Teaching has far better hours and far fewer near death experiences,” he muttered.

Essek chuckled lightly. “Pays _significantly_ less though,” he teased.

“If it means I am home every night at a reasonable hour and wake every morning beside you, well worth it, I think,” Caleb said softly, letting his eyes drift close and turning his head to brush his lips against the inside of his husband’s wrist.

“Oh, _d’anthe_ ,” Essek breathed, shakier than the moment before. He pressed closer, and Caleb leaned forward to rest his forehead against his middle, welcoming Essek’s hand settling on the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. “You cannot just say things like that.”

Caleb hid his smile in Essek’s robes, wishing for nothing more than more time. He didn’t want to go downstairs, to leave this room, this moment of privacy.

“I am afraid I can’t make that promise,” he said, exhaling heavily and drawing a cleansing breath into his lungs.

He didn’t protest as he felt Essek’s fingers tugging at his hair tie, gently pulling it free to run his fingers through Caleb’s hair, his other hand cupping his jaw delicately and lifting his chin to look up. The low light of amber orbs drifting slowly around the ceiling haloed Essek’s face beautifully, his lavender eyes shining, white hair and silver jewelry reflecting the low glow like motes of starlight. 

Caleb swallowed, his mouth gone dry. Overwhelming, his love for this man. “I am afraid I won’t even try.”

“You’re going to make us late,” Essek warned, faux-serious, his slow smile broad enough to reveal the tips of his canines peeking through. 

“Oh?”

“I’m going to have to redo your hair,” he explained, blinking at Caleb innocently as he closed his fist in Caleb’s hair and tugged just shy of sharply, using his grip to angle Caleb’s head back just so, watching with an appraising look through his eyelashes.

Caleb suppressed a shudder, taking a measured breath. Hands on Caleb’s shoulders, Essek nudged him back until he caught on, moving further up the bed. Far enough for Essek to shift forward to kneel, straddling Caleb’s lap.

“Oh,” Caleb chuckled, hands going to Essek’s waist, drawing him closer. “Well that’s your fault, don’t you think?”

“Hm, maybe so,” he admitted, a soft purr. “Shame we don’t have more time, though.”

“We have _some_ time,” Caleb offered, fighting the warm flush that crept along his face and vanished into his collar.

Essek laughed, low and warm. “Not enough. I’m not redoing this,” he warned, gesturing to himself, his appearance flawless, though for all he wore it effortlessly, having seen the process, Caleb knew that it was _not_.

He grinned at that, raising an eyebrow. “What if I promise not to mess up your hair?”

“You will.”

“I won’t,” he promised, hands exploring down the backs of Essek’s thighs, earning him a sharp swat.

“You _will_ ,” he chastised. “But the pleasant thing is,” Essek purred, “they will be plenty of time to ruin all this hard work later tonight.”

“I will hold you to that,” Caleb warned, reaching up to tug Essek down into a biting kiss, as heated as it was brief.

“Yes, I rather hope you will.”


	2. Part II.

The delicate crystal, once chilled, had long since gone warm between his fingers, the liquid within tepid and unappealing. Constant discomfort making him a distant observer to himself, Caleb had been conscious of each moment he’d held, motioned with, and smiled politely behind the champagne flute ever since the entrance of their guests had begun to be announced. 

Everything but actually drink from it.

The hour late enough to bring nightfall outside but not yet so late as to bring an end to his social obligations, Caleb debated finally abandoning the thing atop the tray of a passing server. It was an awkward social crutch when his only company for a rare moment was the blessedly mute marble banister at the base of the grand staircase. 

It at least did not ask him about his work. About the school. About the Nein. About his marriage. Anything and everything personal deemed suitable subjects for polite conversation. 

Essek had assured him that this was normal. Expected. Tolerable.

_ Essek  _ had abandoned him with nothing but an apologetic smile, looking rueful for the both of them, to the over-eager dignitary from Tal’dorei at the beckoning of an influential Den Mother.

Caleb breathed deeply, schooling his expression should anyone be looking. Re-centering himself, he let his eyes wander over the hall, trying to track down his elusive husband.

The manor’s ballroom was glowing with the warm hues of fire light, draped in soft reds and golds and autumn colors. Jester and Veth had done a fine job decorating, among everything else. The air swelled with the gentle music of stringed instruments as attendees moved freely about, now far more comfortable with one another by this late stage of the evening. Or else they pretended to be. But no false smiles had been dropped yet, and Caleb would consider that a win.

The braziers lining the ballroom and the distant light of candles flickering among the dark rafters like so many stars—suspended with a minor enchantment Essek had worked up, the effect admittedly more impressive than Caleb expected—glittered over an impressive display of jewelry, gemstones, and fine clothing adorning their guests. Toward the far end of the ballroom, the manor’s east wing, the many glass panel doors were thrown open to allow attendees to spill out onto the veranda and into gardens beyond it, the cool evening breeze a welcome relief.

As was proving to be the theme of the evening however, Caleb found he was afforded precious few minutes alone.

“ _ Ca-leb _ ,” Jester cooed from over his shoulder, pulling him back from where his mind wandered with a start as she flitted past him with a twirl, the bottom of her pastel pink dress flaring out around her gracefully. In usual dramatic form, Jester pouted at him somewhat sternly, mimicking poorly, he realized belated, his own expression. “It’s a party. You’re supposed to be having  _ fun _ .”

He tried on a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s  _ worse _ , Caleb.”

Exhaling heavily, he readopted the expression he’d donned for most of the night, one he’d decided conveyed an appropriate degree of attentiveness and polite interest. He scanned the nearby attendees quickly, deciding they were sufficiently out of earshot. “Not all of us can entertain ourselves by impersonating Xhorhasian royalty,” he said quietly, sternly, turning into her slightly to put his back to any potential eavesdroppers.

Jester had the good grace to at least pretend to be shamefaced, drifting closer. “Oops,” she giggled, a gloved hand lifting to cover his mouth. “You heard that, huh?”

He tried not to let his fondness for her soften the criticism too much, though he wasn’t sure how successfully he managed it, the corner of his mouth ticking upward of its own accord for the first time since he and Essek had descended the stairs. “More than you know,  _ Duchess _ ,” he said quietly, glancing sidelong across the hall at the graying High Priest of the Chantry of the Dawn, a man only adjacent to Rexxentrum’s politics who evidently had no ear for accents nor knowledge of the prominent Dens and denizens of the Dynasty. “Might I suggest you pick a title which actually exists in the Dynasty next time?”

“Well it’s not like he knew the difference.” She wrinkled her nose at him, faux-distaste equally affectionate. “Shouldn’t you be finding your  _ husband _ ,” she teased, wriggling her eyebrows at him as though this were something she could still embarrass him for. “Or has he  _ abandoned  _ you.”

“He was pulled into a conversation with Lady Olios.” The Umavi had been oddly insistent. “Something about recent tax revenue directed toward Asarius, of all things,” he muttered, prompting Jester to pull a dreadfully bored expression. “I’m sure that was merely an excuse to start a conversation. Regardless, I am under strict instruction to liberate him in”—Caleb paused to recalculate—“seven minutes and fourteen seconds.” 

“Oh, he told you that, huh?” Jester raised a dubious eyebrow.

Caleb studied the lukewarm champagne in his hand more closely than it demanded. “It was more of a look.”

“You want me to cause a distraction or something?”

“I think you’ve done quite enough,” he warned gently. “I would caution you against creating an international incident. The peace is still fresh,” he said, only a slight exaggeration.

“ _ Look _ ,” Jester sighed. “What was I supposed to do when that old guy tells me, looking at me like  _ that _ ,” she emphasized, grimacing in real disgust, “that he’s ‘ _ never had the privilege to meet such an exquisite creature _ ’,” she mocked in a serious, low tone he took to be her haughty impression of the High Priest. 

“Oh no,” Caleb empathized softly, wincing. “Did Beau –”

“Beau, thankfully, was not there for that.” Worse incident avoided then. “She and Fjord haven’t left the bar for  _ a while _ .”

“Ah.” He flicked his gaze over the crowd at her back. “Perhaps you had better join them, Jester.”

She laughed, giving him an odd look. “Why?”

He straightened up, feigning a conversation that didn’t entirely consist of conspiratorial whispers. “Because he’s walking this way,” Caleb said quietly, tracking the slow progression of grey and gold robes bearing the symbol of the Dawnfather in his periphery, moving toward them for a few moments now.

“ _ What _ ,” she squealed, only stopped from turning sharply on her heel to look by Caleb grabbing her arm first.

“Don’t _ look _ ,” he hissed between grit teeth.

“No he’s  _ not _ .”

“Oh yes he is,” Caleb warned under his breath, displeasure unmatched by that same pleasant expression plastered across his face. “He’s just bumped into Lord Biylan. You remember him, our old neighbor in Rosohna.” 

“Of course I do. He  _ hated  _ our tree,” she recalled, still rather pleased with that fact. But her expression quickly morphed into something far more scandalized. “But never mind that. You won’t lie just a little bit to him for me?” she accused.

“Of course I would, but I don’t want to talk to him either, and you’re bringing him right here,” Caleb admitted. “He’s been trying to talk to me about the Academy and its ‘traditional relationship’ with Rexxentrum’s clergy for  _ months _ .”

Jester exhaled in a huff. “You’re no help at all.”

“We should both move.”

“Right,” she agreed through a forced smile so much brighter than his own. “See you for brunch tomorrow?”

“Go find Beau. I don’t want to hear her complain about a hangover the whole time.”

They ducked apart as quickly as they’d convened, Jester to the left of the central staircase toward where drinks were being served and Caleb to the right in search of Essek and Lady Olios or, at the very least, a friendly face to hold a conversation with for a few minutes, one hopefully not littered with political and social pitfalls.

The music swelled, elegantly matched pairs spinning past each other across the floor where the dance carried them. Weaving behind the pillars and braziers of glowing coals lining the hall, Caleb scanned over the shifting sea of guests for his husband.

His  _ husband _ . Oh gods.

It still sounded strange. His husband.  _ Good _ , decidedly good, but strange, making his heart stumble over itself dangerously. The thought put the most fragile, fluttering sensation in his chest that he had yet to put words to and a stupid grin on his face when he wasn’t being careful. And he was presently being  _ exceptionally  _ careful.

These nations were allies, technically, but their elite—his guests—bared their teeth at one another more than they did smile. If they made it through the night without any bloodshed at this anniversary of the peace, that alone would be worth celebrating.

For the hundredth time, Caleb found himself thumbing at the inconspicuous platinum band on his left hand. Drow of the Dynasty did not exactly have the same customs when it came to unions, but Essek had been willing to humor him there, drawing a hard line of course at the more traditional gold. Silver or platinum, very well and good. But gold would clash  _ terribly _ , he’d assured him, not the least bit self-conscious.

Caleb loved him still, even in his vanity. When it had ceased being obnoxious and had become charming, if he could have identified the point, would probably have been a very telling moment.

Absently, not quite looking where he walked, Caleb turned the band around and around his finger, a comforting weight, skin-warmed and  _ tangible  _ in a way he hadn’t known he’d needed until he’d donned it. And  _ that  _ had been – 

“Congratulations are in order, then.” 

It almost startled him visibly.  _ Almost _ , though his pulse leapt all the same. The voice over his shoulder was soft, the curling lilt of an accent around the edges speaking of its owner’s sharp smile, and turning Caleb’s stomach. He stilled his hand, fighting every instinct to spin sharply and shift his hands behind his back, to hide that part of himself away, his heart in his throat.

Instead, Caleb shifted his hands calmly down to his sides. He hummed an upticked note, polite acknowledgment and nothing more, slowly turning where he stood to raise an eyebrow at the mage. Standing not five feet from him—altogether too close—Ludinus Da’leth raised an equally untouched champagne flute in greeting.

One of those names he would have rather crossed off the King’s guest list, had he been able. Or one he would have at least rather not crossed paths with.

“Martinet,” he intoned with a stiff nod. 

The archmage smiled shallowly, just as politely, and with a practiced gesture returned the acknowledgement. “Headmaster.”

The span of a breath passed in mutual silence, Caleb feeling very much that he was being  _ appraised _ , the tension bridging the space between them somehow different from that which hung in the air throughout their every prior meeting since the removal of Archmage Ikithon and the subsequent restructuring of the Assembly. Ludinus, leveraging his knowledge of Essek’s prior involvement with the Assembly to cling to his position of influence with the King if nothing else (doing so by a thread even more tenuous than his claim to no knowledge of the Volstrucker program) had never expressed overt malice in the aftermath that saw Caleb reject court politics and assume leadership of a newly independent Soltryce Academy.

But the brittle thing between them was still very far from mutual respect.

“If you are congratulating me for the five years of peace between the Dynasty and Empire…” Caleb began with a coolly incredulous look, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “You overestimate my influence and role in that.”

Ludinus chuckled, a short huff of amusement and a crinkle about the elf’s eyes that Caleb doubted a great deal to be genuine. “Not at all,” he said, with a look that Caleb had difficulty assigning meaning to. “There are a great many parties responsible for the lasting peace honored tonight. My comment had more to do with–” he gestured with his glass down to Caleb’s hand. As if Caleb hadn’t known precisely what he’d meant. As if Ludinus didn't know Caleb knew, pursuing the topic regardless.

If the passage of any number of years could’ve made him comfortable discussing his personal life with the Martinet, a mere five was certainly not enough.

Ludinus drifted uncomfortably closer, head cocked to the side curiously. “That wasn’t there, last we had the pleasure of speaking.”

It took Caleb an embarrassingly long series of seconds to decide exactly how he wanted to respond to that, treating Ludinus to a blank look in the meantime.

“A good eye,” he said flatly, not quite cold, but a near thing. Hand still at his side, his thumb brushed over his wedding band again. “It was not.”

There was a moment, a sudden spike of anxiety in his chest which he strove to bury, in which Caleb was barely able to stop his eyes from darting to where he’d last seen Essek disappear into the crowd.  _ This is not a secret _ , he reminded himself, slowly, purposefully, as he had many times before.  _ Not a vulnerability _ . Even though it felt like it. Even though by tying himself to Essek, he tied himself to the threat that Ludinus held over him. 

Inert blackmail, he knew. They had reached a palatable resolution, and sabotage would do nothing but ensure mutual destruction. Still, there was a moment in which Caleb squirmed on the inside, too exposed. A moment, he would allow himself. And then no more.

“So, as I said, congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you,” Caleb said, keeping his tone neutral. He studied Ludinus quizzically, finding no indication of what he expected from this conversation, though he doubted he would have approached if he did not want  _ something _ . “It was not exactly a publicized event.”

There had been eleven people at his wedding, and two of them had been his husband and himself. It might have been a better attended affair, but Den Thelyss had seen fit to recognize their union at a far more formal and altogether colder ceremony in the Light of the Luxon—a farce in Essek’s eyes and a harmless bit of performance to keep familial relations intact in Caleb’s. So it was that gathering of friends that Caleb and Essek considered the one that counted.

Though he wouldn’t be saying a damn thing about any of that to the Martinet.

“That was wise, probably,” Ludinus nodded agreeably.

“We thought so, yes.”

“Wise, though a shame. I quite enjoy weddings.” His pale eyes shone with his own amusement. 

Caleb stopped himself from scoffing,  _ barely _ , the noise that escaped him too close to a laugh. “His Highness the King himself was not invited to my wedding. Do not consider it a slight,” Caleb suggested, unable to keep the hint of bitterness from creeping into the edge of his tone.

“Good on you.” Ludinus looked too much like he meant it. “I would say more,” he began, for they both had their own less than entirely pleasant opinions on the King, himself possibly more than Caleb at the moment. “But the night is not meant for politics, no?”

“No, not meant for politics,” Caleb agreed, “though there is certainly no moratorium on the topic, as it does seem to be coming up quite frequently regardless.” A pause. The Martinet’s expression remained unreadable, unchanged. “I  _ am  _ curious as to whether you plan to honor that intention, Ludinus. Or is there something I can do for you?”

If there was a clear challenge in his flat tone or the way Caleb raised his brow just so, waiting for an answer, then it was obvious only to Da’leth. 

That polite smile of his was tight-lipped, the corners twitching. “Of course,” he agreed too smoothly. “I imagine you have been dodging unwelcome conversations all evening.”

Caleb felt the muscles in his jaw leap. The irony of that statement was lost on neither of them. “If only it were so simple,” he said slowly, each syllable purposeful and sharp, though regrettably unable to cut. “Perhaps it would be helpful then, if you informed me of which type of conversation  _ this  _ is.”

“Patience, Widogast,” Ludinus chided, once-polite smile now decidedly less so, even if only for a moment before it receded behind a stoic mask. “I would expect more of it from the man responsible for overseeing the education of our nation’s young minds. Children require such patience.”

He forced himself to breathe slowly, his already thin veneer of politeness fracturing. 

Caleb cleared his throat gently, swallowing down the disdain that threatened to seep into his tone. “Oh, I’ve been at it for a few years now, Ludinus,” he reminded needlessly. “With a fair number of successes, I’m pleased to report.”

Remarkable, how easily the man put him on the defensive, his skin prickling, nerves raw and exposed. The last time he’d been confronted like this, his friends had been there, a physical barrier around himself, and there’d been no expectation of civility from any of them; the façade of an expression he maintained for the sake of the evening was hardly a substitute, keeping it up becoming a burden.

And still he couldn’t ignore the fact that Ludinus was  _ better  _ at this two-faced game than him. 

“So I’ve heard.” He twirled his champagne flute, either real interest Caleb detected, or another false lead. “The new student ambassador program seems promising.”

“It has certainly shown positive results.”

“A shame though, you had no higher aspirations.”

Caleb saw the barb precisely for what it was, that smile dismissive, belittling, and still it provoked the very resentment toward this  _ arrangement  _ which left Ludinus untouchable that he’d buried down in his chest and come to terms with years ago.

“Well, you said it yourself, Ludinus,” Caleb said coldly. “I find myself responsible for quite a few young minds. Though perhaps unlike yourself, I find teaching our youth to be independent and critical thinkers a worthy endeavor, and high enough an aspiration for me.”

Caleb stopped himself short of whatever else insolent and regrettable was on his tongue, watching in tense silence as Ludinus took some degree of delight in carefully forming whatever he was going to say next, either another shrouded insult or useless pleasantries, or perhaps he would finally start to pry at whatever it was he wanted. Assuming he hadn’t begun that already. 

The Martinet only just drew in a breath to speak when –

“Ludinus,” a new voice,  _ Essek’s  _ voice, greeted from just beyond Caleb’s periphery, close enough to startle him. The tone he took with the Martinet was notably less than hospitable. 

Caleb didn’t turn to see him emerge from around a small group of dignitaries at the corner of the dance floor for the same reason one doesn’t turn their attention away from a snake within striking distance, but in just a moment he was drifting gracefully to Caleb’s side. 

“I must apologize for missing your arrival,” he said as he grew nearer. “I would have greeted you at the door myself.” Somehow, Essek made it sound like a threat.

A feeling like relief he hadn’t expected was palpable, gentling away some of the tension he hadn’t noticed gathering between his shoulders. Each syllable was clipped short in as close to open displeasure as Essek dared. That he’d cut a direct path across the floor in their direction as if to intervene—surely to intervene—hadn’t escaped Caleb’s notice. He very much doubted it escaped the Martinet’s.

Ludinus’s brow lifted slightly, though his expression and demeanor were altogether too schooled for Caleb to interpret anything by it. “Shadowhand,” he greeted, a near sigh. “A pleasure as always. And here I was just offering you both my congratulations on your recent union.”

The way he said it, clinical, cold, made Caleb grind his teeth.

Drifting closer to Caleb’s side, the corner of Essek’s mouth twitched in distaste. “Thank you. Apparently it had not gone without notice.”

Even as Essek spoke, in a stark contrast from the cool disinterest he projected toward Ludinus, Caleb felt Essek’s knuckles brush against the inside of his wrist. It was an almost unnoticeable gesture, warm and fleeting and embarrassingly reassuring. 

“Few things do in these circles,” Ludinus noted, more strained than before, with a surprising hint of annoyance. His gaze shifted to Essek, evidently unwelcome in the conversation he’d wanted. Caleb didn’t doubt that court gossip about their atypical union was not the only thing the Martinet was referencing.

“As has become apparent,” Caleb agreed stiffly. He glanced to Essek. “Was there something…?” He left the question open.

Essek leapt at the chance, the full force of his attention on Caleb almost as dismissive of Ludinus as his words. “Yes, I know you had hoped to speak with Regent Hythenos about his work at the Conservatory, but I’ve just been told he has to be leaving soon.” A blatant lie, they’d had that conversation a week ago, yet even Caleb half believed him. Essek’s attention snapped back to the Martinet, not at all apologetic. “Terribly sorry to interrupt, but you remember how it was, Ludinus. Research waits for no one.”

Caleb almost choked on nothing at the flippant tone Essek took alone, biting his tongue painfully to keep a straight face as a shadow fell over the archmage’s expression. Essek was better than himself at this game too, though Caleb wished he wouldn’t engage in it.

“I see,” Ludinus intoned, each syllable clipped and eyes cold, but then any hint of anger slipped back under that faux-polite, alarmingly deceptive affect. “No matter. Perhaps we will cross paths again soon. The evening is still young.”

“Of course. So much to catch up on,” Essek agreed dismissively even as Caleb felt his hand at the small of his back, a gentle pressure nudging him forward and into step beside him. “I’d be curious to hear what it is you’re up to these days,  _ Martinet _ .”

It was all Caleb could do to keep from grimacing, very much hoping their exit didn’t look like flight.

They skirted the edge of the ballroom, walking in tense silence for as long as there was the possibility Ludinus could hear them, Essek’s hand only falling away from the small of his back after they’d put sufficient distance between themselves and where they’d left the Martinet staring coldly after them. 

“You should  _ not  _ have said that,” Caleb hissed between his teeth, hardly meeting Essek’s gaze as he focused on keeping his eyes ahead and expression neutral.

“I said nothing –”

“It was  _ the way  _ you said it.”

“You were ambushed,” Essek huffed, the anger at the edge of his tone and hard set of his jaw a surprise. Not quite the diplomatic facade Essek wore so much better than himself.

“And you were reckless,” Caleb cautioned, keeping his voice low, directing his words to Essek at one side even as he nodded a wordless greeting to Taskhand Mirimm as the drow drifted past the other, arm-in-arm with Zadash’s lawmaster. Perhaps even more desperately than he wanted to avoid Ludinus, he wanted to avoid making a scene.

Essek disagreed calmly. “I showed him just as much respect as he is owed. You think it a coincidence he cornered you alone?”

“He is still dangerous, and speaking to him like that only invites –”

“Am I not dangerous?” Essek cut in, turning to look at Caleb directly, not that he met Essek’s gaze for a stubborn moment.

The question threw him, the seriousness of it leaving Caleb unsure of whether he expected an answer. “In a dangerous  _ position _ , certainly,” he little more than mumbled under his breath, glaring at the floor. “But we’ll not speak of that here.”

“Caleb.” 

Essek’s voice had gentled, the softness around his eyes as he looked to Caleb reserved for him alone. It was enough to give him pause.

“That I am the reason you must still contend with him at all,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the Martinet, “has not escaped my attention.” Essek slipped his arm through Caleb’s and threaded their fingers together. It was a small gesture, and subtle, hands down by their sides as they clung to the edges of the crowd, but it warmed Caleb’s heart all the same. “I am sorry for that.”

Caleb dropped his gaze. “I said not here.” 

“What I am not sorry for,” Essek continued gently, “is ensuring you don’t have to  _ speak  _ with him, certainly not alone, for a moment longer than you already have.”

“I do not need your protection, Essek.” He flinched after he said it, not meaning for it to sound quite so cold.

Essek squeezed Caleb’s hand between heartbeats, both its own form of forgiveness and asking it in turn. “And yet, you still have it.”

Caleb swallowed whatever further reproach he’d intended to voice, ducking his head slightly, the gleaming hardwood floors a poor excuse for avoiding looking at his husband. Essek seemed content to guide them on for a moment though, as Caleb allowed himself to breathe, and collect himself.

Finally, Caleb sighed, letting his shoulders fall begrudgingly. “I thought it was Jester I had to worry about, not you.” He looked imploringly to Essek. “Just tell me you will behave yourself the rest of the evening.”

That pulled a soft chuckle from Essek, the corners of his lips twitching toward a smile. He leaned in to murmur low in Caleb’s ear, “No promises,” each word a warm breath against his skin, still buzzing with adrenaline.

The sudden closeness caught him by surprise, the air catching in Caleb’s throat dislodging something in his chest which fluttered lightly inside his ribs. “That man already gets under my skin,” he said darkly, his attempt at a warning met with an innocent, too knowing smile. “Don’t you start.”

“Oh,” Essek gave him a chastened look, “I should hope you find me significantly more charming. I have trouble deciphering whether every other phrase from the man’s mouth is a thoroughly veiled threat or else, just…” He clicked his tongue, searching for the right word.

“Thoroughly veiled,” Caleb supplied. 

“Indeed. As enjoyable as discussing the Bright Queen’s latest tax and trade initiative is, when you didn’t come find me, I assumed you must be in more dire straits than I.” 

Essek tugged Caleb closer to the wall, evading the path of a loud group of minor lords and barons from Nogvurot and the surrounding tillage, if Caleb’s eye for signets was accurate, which it usually was. He’d assumed, as most things political in Rexxentrum, their addition to the King’s list had been buried five favors deep in business he’d rather not know about anyway. 

Once they had passed, Essek cleared his throat quietly. “Was I mistaken?”

“About finding you more charming?” Caleb deadpanned, though the quirk at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

Essek huffed at that, amused. “No, I’m quite confident about that.”

Caleb hummed softly, admitting, “You are rarely mistaken,  _ Schatz _ ,” words not carrying far from the space between them, the music growing louder, lifting toward the rafters. “And no, not about that.” Even if not quite as tactful a rescue as Caleb would’ve preferred, there was no sense begrudging him being correct. 

Still, the worry line in Essek’s brow grew deeper. He lowered his voice further, this time without the playfulness. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“A private conversation at least, I would assume.”

“Poor odds of finding that  _ here _ ,” Essek scoffed, disdainful. He tilted his head after the words left his mouth though, considering it. “Not impossible though.” He treated Caleb to a meaningful look, which Caleb followed as he glanced next at the figures they passed. Most were paying them no mind, too caught up in their own drink and conversations, but others, far too curious for their own good. 

“If you don’t think we would be missed,” he said, tongue in cheek, as though he hadn’t been prepared to abandon the celebration and their guests two hours ago. 

“I don’t think anyone would notice or care if we stepped away for a few minutes,” Essek allowed. Taking his hand back, Essek offered Caleb his arm instead, an invitation to follow and more.

Caleb abandoned his untouched glass on the deep inset ledge of the darkened window beside them, looping his arm through Essek’s. “Lead on.” 

They were already near the end of the ballroom, a short walk from the double doors thrown wide open onto the veranda, early autumn breeze rustling the wine red drapery that Veth had insisted decorate the arches and doorways. 

The cool air was a welcome change as they stepped out onto the mossy stonework, stars barely peeking through the vine-covered latticework stretching overhead. A few couples lingered along the railing, but as the evening grew later and the sky outside darker, despite the lanterns strung artfully between the trees that lined the path, captured fragments of sunlight within their warmly tinted glass the same as the ones Jester and Caduceus had strung up in the tree of the Xhorhaus, no one was wandering far from the manor—not until Essek escorted him across the veranda, down the stone steps, and along the cobbled walkway deeper into the garden.

“You said you’d thought you needed to keep an eye on Jester,” Essek began as they walked, the sound of music and conversation fading into the gentle rhythm of wind-rustled trees and chirping insects. “Have you seen her… ” he looked to Caleb, a question he didn’t quite know how to voice hanging on his words.

“Masquerading as the Duchess of somewhere I hope no one tries to find on a map?” He was torn between laughing and pressing at the stress headache beginning to form behind his eyes. “Yes, I’ve seen her. Somehow the most diplomatic solution to that seemed to be to let it play out and hope for the best.”

Essek nodded in understanding, slight furrow in his brow forming as his thoughts lingered on the subject. But they walked in comfortable silence for a few moments more, the more distance between them and the gala, the more tension Caleb felt bleed away.

The lights from the ballroom windows were a beacon in the night, the last dredges of sun-stained sky fading to black on the far horizon. But behind the tall hedges and through the trees diffusing the soft lantern light along the main path which they’d abandoned in favor of a more secluded trail, it would be difficult for even keen eyes to find them. It felt scandalous almost. Secretive, in a way their relationship hadn’t since Beau had first barged in on them to everyone’s dismay, locked door be damned. 

“It could have been worse,” Caleb saighed as they wandered along one of the narrow paths winding through the garden, relying more and more on Essek’s vision to guide them through the dark. 

“It can always be worse,” Essek agreed, their arms still linked, pulling Caleb gently toward the gurgling sound of the fountain situated in the middle of the small cobblestone terrace at the heart of the gardens. The water was just barely audible under the slow music that drifted across the garden from the open ballroom doors.

“She could have rudely abandoned an influential Den Mother to rush across the room and intervene in my conversation with Da’leth,” he teased lightly, glancing up at Essek, dappled in silver moonlight.

Essek tensed at the condemnation, but there was no heat behind the words. Only a terrible fondness. He lifted his chin a fraction, straightening the set of his shoulders. “Ah,” he smiled guiltily, “that obvious?”

“Probably not to most.” Caleb rocked his shoulder into Essek’s side as they walked, pressing closer. Caleb wasn’t able to see much with his only human eyes, but he felt his feet hit the cobblestone of the terrace, and the sound of the fountain grew more discernible. “I trust it was not so bad, if you didn’t need to return to Lady Olios and smooth over any ruffled feathers.”

“I… was excused,” Essek admitted, strangely hesitant.

Arm in his, Caleb pulled them to a stop, here, blanketed by nightfall and hemmed in by trees as good a place as any. Moving around to face him, the soft light spilling across the grounds from the manor a distant backdrop, the pale light breaking through the overhead branches danced across the glint of Essek’s hair and jewelry, and in his eyes when their gazes met. 

“Yes?”

“Lady Olios saw you with Ludinus first,” Essek explained, his eyes glancing away to flit through the dark before returning. “And called it to my attention. But if anything, oddly enough, I believe she came away with a higher opinion of me than when we began the conversation,” he added, like it was some small consolation.

Caleb couldn’t help but wince. He’d hoped he hadn’t been so easy to read.

“You seemed uncomfortable, frustration nearing upon anger,” Essek elaborated slowly, understanding well the source of the concern that pinched Caleb’s brow. “To me,” he added softly, itself the most comforting part.

All Caleb could make out through the dark was the outline of Essek before him and that of the trees above sketched in starlight silver; and so he felt before he saw the warmth of Essek’s palm against the corner of his jaw. Heard the tentative whisper of skin across skin as his thumb brushed over Caleb’s cheek before coming to rest.

He hummed, unconvinced, but he turned into Essek’s touch. Practiced, how his hands settled by their own accord at Essek’s waist as he drifted closer, unsure which of them felt drawn to close the already minimal distance between them, or if that gravity was mutual.

“Anyone would be uncomfortable around the man,” Essek reasoned, unconcerned. “For the same reason anyone who knows the nature of a snake shouldn’t like to be left alone in the company of one.” Caleb couldn’t help but grin at that, the sharp corners of his smirk gentled by the lingering kiss Essek pressed to his brow. “I wouldn’t worry over it,” Essek whispered.

He bit the inside of his cheek, tilting his chin up slightly, chasing after that warmth. “What did she say?”

The question pulled a quiet laugh up from Essek’s chest. “Something about my husband looking a few choice words away from violence. ”

“Oh, hell,” Caleb sighed, dropping his head to Essek’s shoulder to hide from the judgement that wasn’t coming. Not from Essek.

Essek’s touch shifted from the corner of Caleb’s jaw to settle at the nape of his neck, fingers sliding carefully through his loose hair. He still sounded too amused for Caleb’s liking, asking, “At events like these, who isn’t?” 

Caleb huffed in not quite agreement, turning his face into the side of Essek’s neck and nuzzling closer, his collar warm and far more comfortable to rest his cheek against than the metal of the mantle covering his shoulders. A soft sound escaped Essek’s chest, something like surprise, but no more.

“That what you told her?” Caleb asked, letting his eyes slip closed for the moment. The privacy afforded by the dark, the soft sound of the violins adding to the natural chorus around them, Essek’s steady warmth and the weight of his arms around him possibly the only thing keeping him upright as Caleb began to  _ feel _ his exhaustion for the first time that night, rather than merely carry it—it was the first reprieve he’d allowed himself to take all evening. 

Essek hummed a short affirmation. His fingers dragged back down the nape of Caleb’s neck, nails scraping lightly over his scalp, sending sparks cascading down Caleb’s spine with an involuntary shiver. “I think she enjoyed the idea that I might have a sense of humor,” he said, fighting the smile that curled at the corner of his lips, though it was a losing battle, a sharp canine peeking through. “I didn’t know how to explain that I was quite serious.” 

“Best to leave her to her own conclusions, perhaps,” Caleb suggested, worlds only slightly muffled in Essek’s collar. 

“My thoughts exactly.” 

Humming along to the low music drifting across the garden, one of Caleb’s hands slid up Essek’s spine to the back of his shoulder, the other settling lower on his hip, slowly coaxing Essek into a slow spin, swaying them gently.

“Caleb,” Essek breathed, close to admonishment.

In response Caleb merely nudged at Essek’s ankles with his boots when he was too slow to pick up the lazy approximation of a box step, his encouragement met with a tired sigh.

“ _ Caleb _ ,” Essek protested quietly, impossibly fond and irritated all at once, though still he stepped where Caleb led.

“Essek?” Caleb said, not quite the picture of innocence, how he nipped at the soft skin over Essek’s pulse.

He jolted slightly, huffing, unimpressed. “Dearheart, you know I’m very fond of you, and you’re a wonderful dancer –”

“But?”

“– but these stones are so uneven, and I would imagine you’re rather blind –”

As if on queue, Caleb stumbled as his heel caught a raised flagstone, moving to balance himself only to find Essek’s foot in the way, threatening to send them both to the ground if not for Essek steadying him. Caleb laughed at himself, though Essek only sighed more dramatically, his arms tightening around Caleb in response, a hand sliding down to the small of his back to hold him closer still.

“Well that makes my point, now doesn’t it,” Essek muttered, their brief attempt at a waltz little more than unhurried swaying now. 

Caleb tried to search out Essek’s gaze, biting his lower lip against the grin that crept across his face. “If you were worried you would not catch me, you are doing just fine, Schatz,” he reassured. 

Essek dropped his forehead to rest lightly against Caleb’s, his shoulders dropping with a heavy exhale. “You are a menace,” he breathed, but Caleb felt the soft smile at the corner of his lips where he brushed a chaste kiss. 

“There are worse things than wanting to dance with my husband,” he reasoned.

Essek had no counter to that. Barely had the words to speak, nor the mind to voice them, not as Caleb’s fingers dragged from the back of his shoulder down his arm, taking Essek’s hand gently, lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to the backs of his knuckles. 

“There is no one watching,” Caleb coaxed, taking a half step back, his other hand finding its place along the back of Essek’s ribs, nudging his arm into position until he felt Essek’s hand settle at his shoulder. “No one to laugh if you step on my toes,” he teased softly. “Just follow my lead. And try not to let me take us both down,” he finished with a laugh.

Humming quietly along with the distant music for the first few beats, Caleb was already leading him back into the simple pattern, the four step waltz as slow as they liked and easy to fall into.

Essek just shook his head, sighing in defeat. “Fine,” he breathed, shaking his head slightly. Then, an afterthought, “But I will never understand the appeal.”

Caleb scoffed lightly, feeling his way carefully across uneven patches of moss and stonework, elements just barely visible in the low light of distant stars and lanterns. “I will try not to take offense.”

“You know what I mean.” Caleb was sure he would see him blushing had the slivers of moonlight shifting through the trees been a little brighter.

“You can pretend with anyone else,” Caleb assured him, stepping in close again and pulling Essek into a slow spin, “but I know romance is not entirely lost on you, Essek Thelyss.”

“Whoever fooled you into thinking that?” Essek laughed, his nose nudging Caleb’s, lips brushing, tempting, but just as quickly they parted again, soft music carrying them through the steps.

“I married him,” Caleb said simply, watching, mesmerized by how the low light caught the silver swoop of Essek’s eyelashes, pale lavender eyes shining back at him as though with a light of their own. 

Essek’s next exhale came shakier, fingers curling into the fabric of Caleb’s coat, squeezing the hand he still held clasped with his other. “I am glad you did,” he admitted quietly, earnestly, to the dark. To the empty garden. To his audience of one.

Caleb’s answering smile was his easiest of the evening, a familiar warmth uncurling behind his sternum, like coming home. “As am I, Liebling,” he whispered, tugging his husband in close again. “As am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Much love to those who drop kudos or comments<3 I'm also on Twitter talking about nothing but critical role and gay wizards [@wytchlyghts](https://twitter.com/wytchlyghts)


End file.
